


regular type dude

by Wulfstaar



Category: True Detective
Genre: Closeted Character, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Marty’s POV, Marty’s trying figure himself out, Mentioned Maggie Hart/Marty Hart, Possibly Unrequited Love, Regular Type Dude, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wulfstaar/pseuds/Wulfstaar
Summary: Martin Hart is just a regular type dude, no oddities, no peculiarities, nothing, and fuck you for implying so.Rustin Cohle, is not a regular type dude, not one bit, not at all.How about that——Rust brings out something in Marty he’s not sure if he likes.
Relationships: Rustin "Rust" Cohle/Martin "Marty" Hart
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. Part One.

**Author's Note:**

> idk man i just wanted to write about these two old fucks.

Marty was just a regular type dude. He’d been born a regular type baby, grew into a regular type kid and then to a normal, regular type adult. He would die a regular type old man.  
Any thought, or flicker of feeling otherwise was unconscionable. Any suggestion of irregularity or peculiarly was squashed the moment it was conceived.  
Those curious high school locker room thoughts and glances, the too soft smile from a stranger, the odd lingering handshake, all immediately tuned out, any lingering thoughts killed in their infancy.  
Marty did not do well with any step outside the regular type box he had built for himself. The construction of which consisted of his beautiful, mollifying wife Maggie, his two endlessly adoring daughters, his perfect tidy suburban home. Admittedly sometimes he invited another woman in, someone not like his wife, but all the regular type fellas he knew did that, it was just another part of regular type male behaviour. A wife could never satisfy Marty’s every need, even one as beautiful as Mrs Maggie Hart. 

He could always feel it though, a scratch under the surface he couldn’t name. He never tried to identify it, was too scared to scratch the itch and find out what exactly it was.  
He chased that rabbit once, before he had met Maggie. Lying out back with one of his regular type friends, tall and popular with the girls, name was something like Rob, or Ray or something, they were talking about football, probably and watching the stars. The itch was back, he could hardly concentrate on the conversation. He knew that if he reached his hand out, just for a moment and grabbed his hand it would placate the itch, that’s all it would take.  
He almost did it, his hand twitched slightly by his side, but he couldn’t follow through. It would have changed things, and grabbing another fellas hand, well that wasn’t normal, and that just wasn’t Marty. The entire incident was forgotten the moment they’d gone inside that evening, although sometimes late at night when he couldn’t sleep, the memory would seep back in, and Marty would wonder where he’d be now if he’d just reached out and grabbed Rob (or Roy, or whatever the fuck his name was) and held his hand.  
Dead in a ditch was always the answer he came to, even if he hadn’t caught a beating that night, his father wouldn’t have stood for it. And Marty would have ended up dead in a ditch. 

He met Maggie his first week at USL, he’d met her in the library, Marty was just there to sleep off a hangover away from his roommate and he’d tripped over her handbag and almost took her out with him. She had a smart mouth and an attitude, and she was absolutely beautiful. He fell in love with her quickly and proposed after a year. Maggie was his armour and marriage was his shield, how could he possibly be accused of peculiarity with such a beautiful wife, and such a picture perfect marriage. With the addition of Audrey, and then little Mace, Marty decided he surely now was contented. The itch had become easier to ignore over the years, hardly noticeable most days. Only once did he waver, he’d stumbled into bed stinking of whiskey, he was unusually emotional , which stopped Maggie kicking him to the floor. He cried that night, in her arms he told her that there was something wrong with him, that he wasn’t normal. She hadn’t known what he meant, but she held him while he cried and promised she’d love him forever. 

Now Rustin Cohle was not by any definition a regular type dude, from the moment Marty met him, it was like nails on a chalk board. He didn’t like the way other people looked at Rust, and didn’t like how other people looked at him when he was with Rust. He would overhear what people would say about Rust, the words they used, not things you’d say about a regular type dude. He didn’t know if it was true, he didn’t want to know, curiosity often leads to trouble. Even after Marty found out that Rust had been married, had had a daughter, he still suspected, maybe those things people were saying were true. Marty didn’t like that, you weren’t meant to think those things about good men with wife and children.  
The long drives with Rust became torturous, Marty could hardly stand the man in good company, but alone with nothing to hold him back, Rusty would just talk about all sorts of things, shit you didn’t say in front of people.  
Marty never did figure out what it was that made Rust that comfortable around him.  
It made the itch worse, he kept his eyes on the road while Rust ranted on about men being a plague on the earth, destroying it bit by bit gesticulating out the window to the endless debris by the side of the road, he couldn’t watch Rust when he was like this. Flustered was the closest word he could associate with this feeling. He just gripped the steering wheel and told Rust to keep his trap shut like usual. 

Marty didn’t love Lisa, he wasn’t stupid enough to even entertain the thought, he didn’t even particularly like her, but she was there for him and Marty was sure she’d help scratch that incessant itch of his, and it did help, a little, sometimes. Marty would admit he had his head in the sand a little about Lisa, wanted to be surprised that Rust knew all about his dalliances. He did have the good sense to feel ashamed of his actions, and Rust picking at him didn’t help, making him bite like that. He hated how unconcerned Rust had been, pushed up against the lockers, staring at him with half closed eyes, all Marty could hear was the blood in his ears and the itch in his brain telling him to do something stupid. Rust tightened his iron grip around his wrists, and Marty knew he could, and would snap them without a second thought.  
Part of him wished he would, but that was the shame talking.  
The night at the Longhorn was a mistake from the beginning, Marty could not understand why Maggie was so fucking desperate to set Rust up, he hated watching Maggies vapid nurse friends try and flirt with Rust, as if she knew him, could understand him. It set his teeth on edge, and seeing Lisa flaunting herself around made it worse. But he could do something about that. He could hardly follow Rust and Jennifer home could he, couldn’t think of a good reason to.  
Maybe if he had, his marriage wouldn’t have blown up, or hell maybe it would have blown up for another reason.  
He liked them crazy, he did, but if he’d have known Lisa was god damn crazy enough to show up at his home, with his daughters he would never have taken her home in the first place. He felt hopeless, adrift without his wife, suddenly an angry and spiteful woman. He supposed divorce was another regular type guy thing, although they weren’t saying the ‘D’ word, not yet.  
Rust had been kind enough to offer the spare room in his bare white apartment, Marty wished he had another option. He didn’t want to be caged with him, and without the option to go back to his wife he didn’t want to risk the itch getting so bad he had to scratch it.  
It was uncomfortable, to say the least, at Rusts place. The man seemed to do nothing but work out and read boring brainiac books. They would sit at the kitchen counter and Rust would talk to Marty for what felt like hours about his latest crazy theories. Marty liked the sound of his voice, it was like velvet all around him, now Marty wouldn’t pretend to know a god damn thing about what Rust was saying but he would listen intently all the same.  
He could placate the itch, with little glances when Rust wasn’t paying attention, watching him as he worked out, watching the lines on his forehead as he poured over another book. He had convinced himself now that those poisonous words he’d heard tossed Rusts way at the beginning were false, they needed to be. Marty cared deeply for Rust, hard as it was to admit, and these days he was as close to a friend as Marty could imagine, and he didn’t want Rust hurt which seemed to be a very likely outcome of this biker deal, if the bikers didn’t clock and kill him, the drugs surely couldn’t help. But Marty trusted him, he knew Rust would manage to get what they needed, he knew Rust would do what needed to be done.  
He hadn’t been expecting to meet Ginger.


	2. Part Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continuation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve absolutely shot myself in the foot by having absolutely no dialogue lmao.

Rust hadn’t been exactly forthcoming with information about his life undercover, understandably. But when Marty looked back at the men in his back seat he could hardly recognise Rust at all, his eyes blown on coke and fuck knows what else, his face was shiny and pallid, his jaw grinding back and forth. It was a far cry from the mostly well put together Rust he knew, this man seemed on the edge of the world, and dangerous.   
Ginger, the other man in the backseat, was quiet now after Rust had clocked him in the face. Every time he looked back he noticed that he and Rust were engaged in an intense starting match. Now Marty wasn’t the best at picking up on other peoples emotional cues, he was dense as a brick Maggie used to say, but even he could tell that there was something else behind the anger in Gingers eyes. It was as if Rust and Ginger were in on a secret Marty couldn’t know. That was, until Ginger turned to Marty and spilled the truth, that him and ‘Crash’, they had been fucking, the entire time Rust had been undercover basically. He kept talking after Rust punched him in the mouth again, from what Marty could hear over Rust shouting they’d fucked that night too, for old times sake. Rust landed one more punch to the face and knocked Ginger the fuck out, the commotion now replaced by heavy, tense, breathing.   
Martys hands were glued to the wheel and his eyes to the road. His ears were ringing as if a gun had went off, he could feel Rusts eyes digging into his skull.   
Everyone had been right, Rust was one of them, a deviant, peculiar, queer. Rust had leaned forward to put his hand on Martys shoulder and the sudden touch almost made Marty swerve off the road. Rusts placating words didn’t help much, everything was shattered now. 

He put himself back together long enough for them to put their plan together once Ginger came to, they had to work and Marty could have a breakdown on his own time. Once he was alone in the car and could focus on the job and not the Rust situation he was a lot calmer. He tried to rationalise it, maybe it was just an undercover thing, hell the guy was married for Christs sake, had a kid. But Marty knew, he’d seen the panic in Rust eyes when Ginger had said it. He understood that panic.   
Marty could forget it though, or pretend to. With the rest of the day being what it was and the following interviews, press conferences and hearings it made it easier to forget, Ginger wasn’t a part of the official story anyway, he never existed. They didn’t speak about it either, how the fuck could they? Marty wasn’t even 100% sure Rust remembered Gingers confession, the cocktail of drugs he had been on could have wiped the whole thing, he rationalised. 

The atmosphere in Rusts place was, tense to say the least. There was an electricity in the air that kept them on edge. Rusty had become withdrawn and quiet with Marty in a way he never had been. Marty didn’t know what he was supposed to say to him, he wasn’t exactly good with his words like Rust was. And Rust refused to fucking talk about it. Or talk about anything. Marty couldn’t have imagined ever complaining about Rust being fucking quiet before.   
Marty thought about it a lot, late at night when he couldn’t sleep, which was most nights. Four years undercover was a long fucking time, he’d asked Maggie to marry him after two years.   
He had hardly recognised Rust that night in the car, fucked up on drugs, covered on blood and on edge, he couldn’t imagine ‘Crash’ with any soft edges, any space to be intimate or loving. It hadn’t been love though, surely. Could Rust have loved Ginger? Four years was a long fucking time. Marty couldn’t fucking figure it out. 

It reached a boiling point eventually, a few months later, they had been sitting in the car in an uncomfortable silence, Marty had decided this was the best place to broach the subject.   
He was dead wrong, and only managed to get a few stilted words out before Rust cracked, yelling at him to shut his mouth about shit he didn’t know shit about. The argument didn’t last long bit it left Marty more confused than he had been before. He’d just been trying to tell Rust that they were still partners even if he was that way. He had no idea why Rust was mad, embarrassed probably.   
It didn’t matter anyway, because not long after Maggie forgave him and welcomed him home with open arms. She was giving him another chance, he could go back to being a regular type dude. She had no idea how close Marty had been to finally scratching that fucking itch. 

Maggie never did get over her obsession with trying to set Rust up, and Marty wouldn’t tell her why she needed to cut it out, but eventually it stuck, and Laurie came into the picture. The four of them would sit at dinner and Laurie would say something funny or smart and they would all laugh, and Marty would catch Rusts eye because they both knew it was all a lie. Marty asked him once why he was even dating her, on a particularly long car ride, and Rust just snapped back, asked why Marty was even married. Marty didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to say to that. He didn’t know if he was supposed to act like he didn’t know what Rust meant. 

It had become clearer in Martys head, the source of it itch. It still didn’t have a name but Marty knew what it was and what it wanted. It made Marty miserable. He was supposed to be happy, he had his wife back, his daughters. This was how his life was destined to be, but he was tainted, different in a way he couldn’t possibly come to terms with. He was alone. How the fuck could he talk about something like this, Rust would have been his only option anyway and he’d made his stance on broaching the subject clear.   
It was something that would only live in his head, Marty had made peace with that, he would daydream about a different life, one in which he’d been braver. A life so unattainable now, how could he tell Maggie, after everything, how could he tell his daughters. Marty had laid his bed and he’d lie in it now. 

He hated how he pined after Rust, the distance between them impossible now, Rust had pulled away, on his own mission doing god knows what. He missed the good old days, when they were on the same trail, and Rust would get close and whisper things confidently to him, his gentle hand on Martys wrist to get his attention. The pressure in his head made him a bad husband and a worse father, snappy with Audrey (who he realised he’d never understand) and clueless with Mace. He turned to religion, because why the fuck not, his own shame dying to be confirmed. He could tell it grated on Maggie who he felt drifting every day. It was self flagellation in a way, the punishment he deserved. His irregular proper conversations with Rust compounded his feelings, having Rust rant on about how religion was a sickness and how Marty was poisoning himself, made him feel better in a way, it gave him hope that one day things could change between them again. 

Eventually, after months and months of trying, he got Rust to spend time with him properly again, they went to a coffee shop (because Marty promised Maggie he was done with the drink) and listened to Rust tell him about his new theories, the trail he’d been following, about the schools and the missing kids. Somehow Marty got the words out, asked Rust if he thought that a persons nature, the way they were born, could that be changed?   
No. That was Rusts answer. A man could hide and bury who he was, but it would always be there, until he couldn’t hide it. Marty hoped Rust knew why he’d asked. 

Laurie had split, Rust told him. That made the hair on Martys arms stand on end. 

Marty spent a lot of time alone, thinking about what would happen to him, an old man on his death bed, still unable to say the words, unable to tell his daughters who he was. It made him queasy. One day, he promised himself, he would be honest, he would be brave and truthful, fuck the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be one more chapter god willing lmao.  
> again, apologies for any mistakes I tend to pour this stuff out of my brain with no filter.

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t bear to read my own writing once it’s done so please forgive any errors.


End file.
